Words Aren't Always Enough
by Boy On Strings
Summary: Various members of the pack struggle to find the right words to express how they feel. A few members find another way to share what they're feeling. Set in the same world as Slow Burn/How they Celebrate.
1. Love is a Four Letter Word for Awesome

**Author's Notes:**

**Disclaimers: Contains graphic male/male sex. I don't make any money off this, don't own Teen Wolf. I do it for fun. I do it because you guys have been so supportive.**

* * *

><p>Derek carefully crawled back into bed. He didn't want to disturb Stiles quite yet, wanted to take his time. The room was warm, faintly illuminated where the morning sun peaked past the edges of the curtains. He eased his body down after pushing the blankets aside so they wouldn't be trapped under him.<p>

Stiles was face down, body stretched out. His breathing was deep and even. Derek tugged the blankets down. Stiles shifted, head seeking a cooler part of the pillow. Derek smiled, lightly brushed his hands over the pale skin of Stiles's back, still warm from sleep. He leaned in closer, placed a soft kiss at the base of Stiles's spine.

Derek took a deep breath, the scent of his lover flooding his senses. He explored Stiles's back and sides with his fingers, trailing them down to his hips. He kissed Stiles's back again, darted his tongue out to taste the smooth skin. The teenager shifted again, hips pushing down into the mattress.

A soft breath, a tiny gasp, Derek relished them. He pulled the blankets down further. Stiles murmured into the pillow, a wordless expression of pleasure. Derek leaned forward, rested his head against Stiles's back. He listened to the heart beating underneath him. He didn't need to be so close to hear it, he just wanted to be. It was an even steady thump.

He wished he knew what Stiles was dreaming about, wanted to be able to see it too. There was something else he wanted to do, something he'd been afraid of doing because he didn't want to hurt the boy underneath him. He pressed his fingers lightly against the back of Stiles's neck. He wanted Stiles to see himself the way Derek saw him. He wanted to share his memories and dreams. He'd have to get his claws into Stiles's soft skin, would have to mark him the way he'd accidently marked Jackson.

Stiles's steady breathing rocked Derek's head up and down. It was soothing, caused Derek's mind to wander. If Stiles had been a werewolf Derek wouldn't have hesitated. The wound wouldn't last, the pain wouldn't linger. Derek had gotten his claws into Stiles once before, he swore he'd never do it again. He'd been mindless, raging on instinct. It wasn't an excuse; it was something he lived with.

Derek lifted his head, nosed against the back of Stiles's neck at the base of his hair, lapped at the warm skin. He wondered if Stiles would ever ask him to turn him. Derek didn't know if he was strong enough for that, didn't want to risk losing him.

"Mmmmm…" Stiles murmured into the pillow. "Puppy kisses."

Derek snorted, nipped lightly at the skin he'd been licking. "Not puppy kisses."

Stiles rocked his hips forward into the mattress again. Derek could smell how interested Stiles was in the attention. He ran his knuckles down Stiles's spine, from the base of his neck all the way to the waistband of the boxers he'd fallen asleep in.

With a quiet sigh Stiles lifted his hips, pressed back into Derek's hand before pushing forward into the mattress again. His hips moved in tiny circular motions. Derek licked at the back of his neck again, savored the taste. Stiles turned his head to the side, looked away towards the other side of the room. Derek nibbled at the top of Stiles's ear, made sure to hold his breath to not tickle his lover too much.

It'd taken Derek a long time to learn the proper way to wake Stiles up. Too fast and he unleashed a terrifying monster prone to biting or scratching to drive away whatever it was that tried to steal his precious sleep. Not enough force and Stiles would just fall back asleep.

"What do you want?" Derek whispered the words into the back of Stiles's hair.

"This is good." Stiles sighed, continued rocking into the mattress. "This is very good."

Derek traced patterns on Stiles's back with the tips of his fingers. "You warm enough?"

Stiles made a noise that sounded affirmative. Derek ran his fingers up into the back of Stiles's hair, scratched lightly. Stiles pushed his head back into Derek's hand, let out a blissful sigh. Derek rested his human nails against the back of Stiles's neck, pressed lightly into the soft skin.

"Your hands are awesome," Stiles whispered against the pillow.

"Your skin is awesome." Derek gripped the covers, pushed them down further to expose more of Stiles's body.

"You mean my ass is awesome," Stiles turned his head, watched Derek out of the corner of one half closed eye. "You should just say it outright."

Derek grinned, ran his hand over Stiles's bottom. He gave it a light pat. "Maybe, but that doesn't mean the rest of it isn't half bad."

Stiles snorted, turned his face fully into the pillow. He ground his hips down into the mattress again. "You're such a tease."

Derek leaned over, licked at the base of Stiles's spine. He got his tongue under the waistband of Stiles's boxers, nosed them down a little further to reveal more pale skin. He pressed his lips to the newly bared area. Stiles raised his hips, pressed up against Derek's mouth. Stiles whined into the pillow, tried to muffle the noise.

"You want more?" Derek got onto his hands and knees. He was perpendicular to Stiles's body. He ran his nails up the length of Stiles's spine into the back of his hair again, tried not to linger too long at the base of the boy's skull.

"Always need more," Stiles whispered. He panted against the pillow, one heaving breath after another as he rocked into the mattress below him. "You always give me what I need." Stiles turned his head, looked at Derek with blown open eyes. "Just not always as fast as I'd like." Stiles grinned, licked his lips, and winked at him.

"You're the pushiest bottom," Derek said. He nipped against Stiles's side, sucked at the warm skin. He wanted to leave a mark.

Stiles hissed but didn't pull away. "I… I'm not a bottom." He huffed indignantly, pulled a hand from under his pillow to push Derek's head away from his tender side.

Derek sat back on his haunches, raised an eyebrow at his prone boyfriend. "Yeah?"

Stiles nodded at him. "I'm versatile, yet accommodating." Stiles didn't sound that confidant in his declaration. "I just… I just like everything. You do a good job with everything; I'm totally cool with whatever you want to do."

Derek closed his eyes to hide the sudden flare of power he felt rising from his wolf. He reached out, gripped Stiles's hips. Stiles pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. Derek got his fingers under the waistband of Stiles's underwear as he crawled around the bed behind him. Stiles rose up to let Derek pull his boxers free.

Stiles grunted as Derek trailed his fingers down his ass, and then gasped as Derek brushed against his balls. He moaned when Derek gripped his swollen dick. Derek loved every moment of it, every sound, and every scent. Stiles buried his face into the sheets, pressed his hips backwards. He spread his legs wider, exposed more of himself for Derek.

"D-Derek," Stiles begged, "please…"

Even if he had wanted to Derek wouldn't have been able to resist that invitation. He leaned in, licked a hot line over Stiles's ass. He tightened his grip on Stiles's dick, twisted lightly. Stiles whimpered into the sheet when Derek tried to push his tongue through the tight ring of muscle, tried to lick into his body.

Derek moaned against Stiles's ass, kissed and licked harder. He did it hot and wet, exactly the way Stiles liked it. Stiles panted, rocked back into Derek's mouth, clenching when Derek's tongue brushed against the center of his entrance, tried to make its way further inside. Derek strained as hard as he could, lapped against the heat of Stiles's body as he continued to twist and pull him.

Stiles grunted, made confused noises like he wasn't sure if he wanted to thrust down into Derek's grip or back into his mouth. Derek made sure he didn't have to make the decision, increased the speed and force of both. Licked and pulled, did his best to reduce Stiles to babbling nonsense. He loved hearing the noises his lover could make, the words that sometimes spilled out of him at random.

"Oh god," Stiles whispered, voice distorted by his face being pressed so hard into the mattress. "Your tongue… your hands… More, please… harder…" Stiles gasped out as Derek pressed his tongue harder, tightened his grip further. "Need it, so bad."

Derek let go of Stiles's dick, gripped his thighs. He ignored Stiles's shocked protest, licked harder. Stiles's body was trembling. Derek could smell how close he was. He was going to deliver; he just wanted to taste more first.

"Greedy… Derek… so greedy," Stiles babbled. "Please… come on… It's Valentine's Day."

Derek couldn't argue with that. It was Valentine's Day. He bit at Stiles's ass, rolled him over onto his back. Stiles looked up at him, ran his hands feverishly over his stomach. Derek grinned, Stiles refrained from tugging at his own erection, wanted Derek to give him what he needed.

Stiles chewed at his lower lip, rocked his hips up into the air. Derek watched as Stiles's dick twitched, looked so needy, an angry red. Stiles gazed up at him, brown eyes desperate. Derek waited a few moments more; Stiles opened his mouth to beg again. Derek grinned, leaned down and licked up the length of his dick.

Stiles made pleased noises, reached out to run his hands through Derek's hair, got a good grip. He didn't try to guide Derek's actions, just needed something to hold on to. Derek lapped at the tip of Stiles's erection, groaned deliriously at the taste. He had everything he wanted. Stiles's scent filled him up; the taste of him was intoxicating. He wanted to spend all day between his lover's legs, lapping at him, tasting him, breathing him in.

He loved the heat of Stiles's cock against his lips. Smooth, silky, but so hard it had to be on the edge of painful. He pulled Stiles into his mouth, hollowed out his cheeks. He sucked hard, tongue twisting as he worked his mouth. He swallowed Stiles's down with no warning. He was beyond patience, Stiles was beyond patience.

"Please… harder… more…" Stiles was desperate, breath hitching as he thrust up.

Derek welcomed it. He got his hands underneath Stiles's ass, encouraged him to push further and faster. Stiles did, hips rocking up. Derek groaned around the hot flesh in his mouth, swallowed Stiles down. He buried his nose in the light dusting of hair at the base of Stiles's cock.

Stiles went wild, fucking up into his mouth. Derek moaned. It was what he wanted, Stiles on the edge of control, making mindless grunting noises. He wanted Stiles lost, broken apart. He wanted him right on the edge.

"Derek… close… so close…" Stiles's breath hitched again.

That was what he was waiting for. He pulled his hands out from under Stiles's ass, pressed down on the tops of his thighs. He pinned Stiles to the bed, increased the suction even as he pulled back to the very tip before dropping down to the base.

"Oh fuck," Stiles gasped.

Derek pulled off till he just had the very tip of Stiles's dick in his mouth, used his hand to stroke the shaft. He sucked at the head, twisted and pulled with his hand. Stiles's body started to shake, legs trembling. Stiles tugged on his hair hard enough that it was almost painful, just the way Derek liked it. He tried to thrust up, but was powerless as Derek kept him in place with his free hand.

Stiles's dick got impossibly harder, strained in his mouth. Derek was relentless, kept pulling until finally he felt Stiles's dick pulse. Hot liquid filled Derek's mouth, the taste driving him to suck harder. He tried to get more. Stiles had been right, Derek was greedy this morning. Stiles didn't sound ungrateful though. He was making pleased noises as Derek kept trying to milk more out of him. Derek indulged himself, licked and sucked at Stiles's spent dick until he felt the hands in his hair tighten again, knew that it was on the edge of too much, that Stiles was about to ask him to stop.

He pulled off, gently kissed and nipped at Stiles's stomach. He made his way up, licked at Stiles's throat as he curled his hand under his neck, blunt fingernails raking against his spine again. He wanted to show Stiles so bad, wanted Stiles to see what he did to him. He was too afraid of hurting him. He bit down on Stiles's neck, felt his fangs extending at the same time his claws did. Both pressed dangerously close to breaking the skin.

"Y-you can…" Stiles's voice was tiny, faltering. "I understand."

The Alpha wolf howled in his mind, urged Derek to press both fangs and claws into the body under him. Derek took a deep breath; there was no fear in Stiles's scent. He had no idea if Stiles knew what he'd been considering. He pulled his fangs and claws away from the fragile skin of the human boy under him. He kept his eyes closed; he didn't want Stiles to see the hunger in them. "I'm sorry," Derek whispered. "I didn't mean to take it that far."

"It's okay. I don't always understand what you go through, I just want you to know that I'm okay. Whatever it is that you need, whatever it is that you want, it's okay. I want you to want it, want to give it to you."

Derek opened his eyes; Stiles looked up at him, brown eyes understanding. Derek leaned down, pressed a kiss against Stiles's forehead. Warm arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulled him down. Derek was careful of how he distributed his weight on Stiles's body, didn't want to make him uncomfortable.

"I love you. That's enough for me." Derek rested his head on Stiles's chest, listened to the heart beating so close.

"I love you too, feel kind of bad that you didn't get off though," Stiles chuckled. "That was… I just… sorry. I meant to say that I don't want you to just give and give without getting anything in return."

Derek smiled against Stiles's skin. "I'm fine; you can do whatever you want to me tonight. This is all I want right now."

Comforting hands stroked through his hair. "Derek?"

"Yeah?" He kissed Stiles's chest gently.

"I need you to come with me someplace today, okay?" Stiles's voice was soft, sounded like he was afraid to ask.

"Alright, whatever you want. I want to give you whatever you want." Derek took a deep breath, basking in Stiles's scent.

"You do." Stiles pressed a soft kiss into his hair. "I want to give you the things you want too."

Derek let Stiles's breathing rock his head up and down. Stiles already gave him everything he wanted. He wished Stiles knew it the way he knew it. He wished he could show him. Someday, maybe he'd be able to. For now he'd just have to keep reassuring Stiles with words and actions. That's all he had to work with for now.

"You do," Derek whispered against Stiles's skin. "You give me more than you know."


	2. Promise to a Mother

Stiles gripped Derek's hand tightly as they made their way through the cemetery. Valentine's Day had always been hard for him. Not just because he'd always spent it alone, but because it was his mom's birthday too. He wanted to show Derek the grave, in a way it'd be like introducing him to his mother.

Stiles brought a bouquet of orchids to his face, breathed in the sweet scent. Orchids had been her favorite flower. His father had always given her orchids mixed with roses on Valentine's Day. He glanced over at Derek, smiled at the dozen pink roses in his hand. Derek had insisted on bringing a gift also.

"Why pink?"

"Pink roses are to show appreciation, to say thank you." Derek glanced over at him, gave him a small smile.

"How do you know what the different colors of roses mean?" Stiles couldn't imagine Derek being the kind of guy that knew stuff like that.

"You're not the only one who knows how to use the internet," Derek said.

Stiles grinned. Derek had done research, something about that amused him. "What are you thanking her for?"

"For you." Derek leaned over, kissed him on the forehead.

Stiles swallowed a lump in his throat, his mouth went dry. He squeezed the werewolf's hand. Derek squeezed his back. "We're not far, just a little bit further." Stiles led them through the graveyard. It was quiet, peaceful. Some people thought graveyards were creepy. Stiles felt at peace in this one.

"I'm not in a hurry. I'm happy just being with you." Derek squeezed his hand again.

"Even when we go and see movies you don't like?" Stiles asked. He winked up at Derek.

"Sometimes I'm happier than other times," Derek muttered.

Stiles leaned into Derek, tried to push him off balance. He failed, but the effort was what counted. Derek leaned over and kissed the top of his head.

"You're such a dork," Stiles said.

Derek gaped at him. Pushed his bodyweight into him to knock him off balance, but kept a hold on his hand so he wouldn't fall. Stiles stumbled sideways slightly.

"You don't have the right to call anyone else a dork," Derek said.

Stiles scoffed. "Whatever, I'm super cultured."

"Star Wars is not a culture," Derek said. He had a small smile on his lips.

Stiles stopped. Derek didn't notice at first which caused Stiles to stumble forward because of the grip on his hand. "I can't believe you just said that." Stiles let go of Derek's hand, punched him lightly in the arm. "Star Wars is totally culture."

Derek turned to look at him, leaned in and kissed him on the forehead. "Okay," Derek said. "You win."

Stiles grumbled, but let Derek take his hand again. Derek needed more culture in his life. He'd arrange a Star Wars marathon. That would win Derek over, that or Derek would get bored and try to distract him. Derek was very good at being distracting, so much so that Stiles almost missed the turn he needed to make. Stiles stopped again. The grave was just a short walk from where they were.

"Can you wait here a second?"

Derek nodded. "Sure."

Stiles got on the tips of his toes, kissed Derek's cheek. "Thanks."

The last few steps were always the hardest. Stiles closed his eyes, took a deep breath. Just one step, all he needed to do was take one step and he'd be able to make it. Derek patted him gently on the back, gave him a slight push. Stiles opened his eyes, walked over to the grave.

The gravestone said that she had been a beloved wife and mother. It wasn't enough. There should have been better words. Stiles didn't know them, hadn't known them when the grave had been made.

"Hi, mom…" He crouched down; set the orchids against the headstone. "I miss you." He ran his fingers over her name. "Happy birthday…"

He blinked his eyes rapidly, chewed on his lower lip. He wondered what his mom would have thought about Derek. She'd have liked him he imagined. She liked everyone. She'd have loved to tease him, to bully him into making sure he was good for Stiles. She'd have been the one with his dad's shotgun, making sure Derek knew she'd use it if he hurt her little boy. Stiles grinned.

He missed her. He missed her so bad sometimes he didn't think it'd ever stop hurting. He wanted her to take pictures of him when he got dressed up for dances, wanted her to tease him if he wore the wrong colored shoes or belt. He wanted to make her waffles on her birthday, just the way she liked them.

He wanted her back for his dad too, wanted her to bring back his father's smile. The one he only used now when Stiles did something to make him proud. Stiles wanted to do more things to make him proud.

"I brought someone to meet you, mom. Go easy on him."

Stiles wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, stood and gestured for Derek to join him. The werewolf came hesitantly, small steps with his eyes focused on the gravestone. Stiles smiled, he wasn't used to Derek looking so nervous. Derek came up alongside him, knelt down and set the roses next to the orchids. Wind rustled the flowers, Derek stood back up. He looked at Stiles, seeking some sort of direction. Stiles reached out, took Derek's hand.

"Mom, this is Derek. He's my boyfriend." Saying the words always made Stiles smile. He had a boyfriend. Not just any boyfriend, he had a super badass werewolf boyfriend. "I wanted you to meet him."

Derek nodded at the gravestone, shifted his weight back and forth. He tucked his free hand into the pocket of his jeans. "I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to do."

"That's okay; you don't have to do anything. I just wanted you to be here." Stiles patted Derek's arm.

"Mrs. Stilinski," Derek said, "I want you to know you have an amazing son. You did everything right."

Stiles gaped at Derek. The werewolf's eyes were focused on the name on the headstone. He was speaking softly, but his voice was strong and steady.

"I'm going to take care of him. So don't worry, you probably know as well as I do that he's too busy taking care of everyone else to think about himself. He's got me for that now." Derek squeezed Stiles's hand. "He's taking care of your husband, making sure he's eating right."

"Derek…"

Derek turned, placed a finger of Stiles's lip. "Shhh, I'm talking to your mom."

Stiles grinned, kissed the finger on his lips.

"He's got a lot of friends, a lot of people that care about him. We're going to take care of him, don't worry. When he's sad, we'll be there. When he's hurt, we'll help him. He's loved, loved by so many people, more than he knows. He can be stubborn; I imagine he got that from you and your husband. I can be stubborn too. Ask my sister Laura about it sometime."

Stiles shook his head; Derek was doing so much more than he thought he would. Derek was going out of his way to make sure Stiles heard the words, knew them in every part of his heart. He smacked Derek's hand away from his face, leaned in to rest his head on Derek's shoulder.

"Trust me, Mrs. Stilinski," Derek said. "I'm going to do everything I can to give him everything he wants, to provide whatever he needs. I'm not always going to be perfect, but I'm always going to keep trying."

Stiles took a shuddering breath against Derek's shoulder, buried his face against his boyfriend's body. Derek rubbed his shoulders soothingly, placed a soft kiss on the top of his head. Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek's waist.

"She'd have liked you," Stiles said.

"Of course, everyone likes me."

Stiles snorted into Derek's shoulder. "Most people think you're terrifying when they first meet you."

Derek sighed. Stiles looked up at him. Derek flicked him in the nose. "I'm a push over; I'm like the friendliest guy in the world."

Stiles reached out, put his hand on Derek's forehead.

"What are you doing?"

"Checking to see if you have a fever, you're clearly delusional." Stiles grinned, flicked Derek back.

"You like me though right?" Derek's green eyes locked onto Stiles, he leaned down and kissed him on the nose.

"Yeah," Stiles said.

"That's all I care about." Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles, pulled him in closer for a tight hug. "That's all that matters."

"Can I make waffles for dinner?"

Derek sighed. "I guess."

Stiles grinned, "I'll make bacon too."

"Now you're talking." Derek took hold of Stiles's hand.

"Bye, mom," Stiles said, "I love you."

"It was nice meeting you; I promise I'll take care of him. I'll try to do it as well as he does for me."

Stiles scoffed, started to lead Derek out of the cemetery.

"What?" Derek asked.

"There's no way you are as good at taking care of me as I am at taking care of you. You'd be lost without me." Stiles grinned when Derek frowned at him. "Come on, Frowny. I'm just playing around."

"I take care of you too," Derek said.

"You going to take care of me tonight?" Stiles wagged his eyebrows as he asked the question.

Derek laughed, "Always, one day though, one day you're going to admit that you like me for more than sex."

Stiles reached out, pulled Derek down for a quick kiss. "I love you."

"I know," Derek said. He placed another kiss on Stiles's lips. "I love you too."

"Enough to watch the Star Wars movies with me this weekend all in a row?"

Derek groaned, but let Stiles lead him back to the car.


	3. Unsteady Heart

Jackson had planned everything perfectly. He knew exactly what Lydia liked. The night would be expensive, fancy, and focused on her. She'd stuck by him through everything. He didn't always think they were going to make it through, but they'd managed it. They were happy. Jackson and Lydia weren't like the other members of the pack. Everything wasn't easy and meant to be. They had to work at it, but they were doing it.

He stepped out of the limo when the driver opened the door. She was going to be so surprised. He couldn't wait to see the look on her face. He walked quickly to her door, smoothed his tuxedo jacket over his chest. He had a dozen red roses in hand. He put on his best smile and knocked on the door.

No answer came. He grinned; she probably wanted it to be dramatic. He'd left her multiple messages throughout the day hinting at what their Valentine's Day was going to be like. He'd rented the party room at one of the most expensive French restaurants in the city. He'd hired a small string quartet. It was going to be amazing.

He glanced at the window above the door. The lights were off in the foyer. He listened closely. There weren't very many sounds coming from inside, but he could faintly make out a skipping heartbeat. He frowned, it sounded like Lydia's heart but it was faster than normal. He hoped that meant she was excited. He rang the doorbell, maybe she hadn't heard him knocking.

The faint patter of footsteps echoed through the house. They were soft, not the sharp click of heels. His smile faltered. The night was going to be perfect. He held the roses up in front of him. The sweet scent coiled around him, eased some of the tightness in his chest.

The soft in and out of a person's breathing reached his ears. The pounding heartbeat of a living person sounded from the other side of the wood. The door wasn't opening. He tapped his knuckles against the hard wood of the door. The light in the foyer still wasn't on.

"Jackson," Lydia whispered. It wouldn't have been audible to someone who didn't have supernatural hearing.

Jackson swallowed; the tightness in his chest was back. Something was wrong. He could feel his own heart pounding in his ears, it almost drown out Lydia's from the other side of the door. He knocked again.

The door opened, Lydia stood on the other side in a bathrobe. She wasn't wearing makeup or perfume. In the half-light of the foyer she seemed hauntingly beautiful. She'd never needed all the cosmetics; she was radiant all on her own. Jackson smiled at her, tried to project an air of confidence.

"These are for you," he said. He held out the bundle of roses.

She smiled at him. It hurt, there was something in her eyes that he couldn't define, but it tugged painfully at his insides. She didn't take the roses he offered. He let them drop to his side. His grip tightened on the stems, if they'd still had thorns they'd be digging into his skin.

"What's wrong?" Jackson didn't miss her heartbeat picking up. Her smile faded away. "You're not dressed…"

She hadn't invited him in. The pain inside him sharpened and tore its way from his chest down to his stomach. He knew what was coming, but he didn't know why. It didn't make any sense.

"I'm not going." Lydia blinked rapidly, but didn't look away. She faced him with her head high. It was one of the things he loved the most about her. She never bowed her head for anyone. She was who she was with no apologies.

"Why?" It was a question he didn't want to know the answer to, but he had to ask. The roses slipped from his nerveless fingers. Why was she doing this now, on this day of all days?

"We're not going to last. We're not right for each other." Lydia's voice didn't waver, but her heartbeat skipped.

It was a lie; Jackson could hear it in her heart. Why was she saying it? He closed his eyes, couldn't let her see the pain crack its way through. It wasn't always easy, but they were doing it. They'd decided to do it together. Why was she going back on that?

"I know you're lying," he said.

"Jackson…" Lydia reached out, put a hand on his arm. "You can't tell me what's in my own heart."

"I know you love me." He knew it, but there was a small part of him that was always terrified of facing a moment of rejection. His clenched his fists hard enough that he felt his human nails digging into his palm. "Why?"

"Sometimes love stories are short stories." Lydia's hand tightened on his arm. "Just because they don't last forever doesn't mean they aren't love stories."

Jackson let his head fall back, he stared up into the starless night. It was empty, a new moon. There was no light in the sky to draw strength from. He felt abandoned and alone. It was his worst nightmare.

"Why are you doing this to me?" It didn't make any sense. They were good together, they fit with each other. There'd been a time when he doubted that she loved him, but it was in the past. He knew she loved him. He could feel it, knew it from the sound of her heart trying to burst out of her chest.

"Not all relationships are meant to last. It's not going to be too long before we start thinking about colleges and where our lives are going to go. High School relationships don't last. Don't be naive." Lydia's voice was cool and calculating. She sounded like she was repeating a speech she'd memorized.

Jackson sucked in a ragged breath, took a step back. "Why are you lying to me?" Her heart was betraying the words she said. Why wouldn't she acknowledge that?

"I don't love you, Jackson. I love me. I love the things you can do for me, but that's it." Lydia gestured towards the flowers on the ground, swept her hand towards the limo. "I love the expensive gifts. I love the social status of dating the richest kid in school, but I don't love you."

Jackson turned away. It was all a lie. He didn't know why she was lying to him, why she was lying to herself. "Don't do this to us," he begged. "I know—"

"Don't tell me what my heart's saying to you. That's not fair. Listen to the words I'm saying. I want you to leave. Please don't call. Don't make this any harder than it has to be." Lydia closed the door.

She wasn't two steps away from the door before Jackson heard the sobbing start. He felt betrayed. He placed his hand on his stomach, was surprised that his insides weren't spilling out of him. Lydia's words had been so sharp he hadn't realized how neatly she was cutting him open until she closed him out.

He stumbled off the porch, started walking randomly down the street. The limo pulled up next to him, the window lowered. Jackson didn't stop walking.

"Sir," the driver called out. "Sir, where are you going?"

"You're done for the night. Your services are no longer required." Jackson almost bit his tongue spitting the words out. He turned his head away from the window. He was angry at himself, angry at Lydia. He didn't want the driver to see that anger burning in his eyes.

"I see…" The window rolled up, the limo pulled away.

Jackson started running. He didn't know where he was going, but he needed to be moving. He wished he could still get drunk, would have loved to sink under the numbing sensation of booze. He ran faster, barely resisted the urge to let his wolf out and drop to all fours.

He wanted to howl out his pain, wanted to call to the rest of his pack. It wouldn't be fair to pull them away from their lovers. He swallowed the instinct; let it burn deep in his gut. The neighborhood became a blur. One block became two, two became six. He kept running, sucked in a painful lungful of air.

He was alone. It was like being trapped in a nightmare he couldn't wake up from. He was part of a pack, but he was alone. That was never supposed to happen. That's what being part of a pack was supposed to mean. He stopped running, tried to focus on where he was. His muscles burned with the strain of having been put to such rigorous use for so long.

He was standing in front of Scott's house. He looked around. Scott's mom's car wasn't in the driveway. All the lights in the house seemed to be off. On some level he must have known this was where he was headed. He went around to the side of the building. He shouldn't have come to Scott's house, but he didn't know where else to go.

He shrugged out of his tuxedo jacket and let it fall to the ground. It didn't matter. He scaled the side of the house, slipped through the window onto Scott's bed. Clothes were spread over the room. Scott must have torn through his closet looking for the perfect thing to wear. Jackson paced around the room. Scott was with Allison, they were spending Valentine's Day together.

Jackson swallowed more pain. He noticed Scott's lacrosse jersey, the white number eleven illuminated by the street lights coming through the window. Jackson picked it up. It smelled like laundry detergent, fabric softener, and _Scott_. He clutched it to his chest, like somehow it could take away the pain in his heart. It didn't take away the pain, but it eased it a tiny fraction.

He crossed the room back to Scott's bed, laid down on it, and curled up into a ball. He didn't bother to kick off his expensive dress shoes. He grabbed one of Scott's pillows, buried his face in it as he hugged the jersey to his chest.

It hadn't been his idea to have an open relationship. It was something Allison and Lydia had come up with together. He and Scott hadn't even done anything since New Years. Scott had never even told him the details, Allison had laid it all out to him. Lydia had confirmed them. He'd never acted on it. Why did Lydia want to break his heart? He'd never done anything to deserve it. He'd been faithful. Even with the new rules he and Scott hadn't done anything. Had Lydia left him because she was afraid something would happen one day? That wasn't fair.

Tears spilled down his cheeks, began to soak into Scott's pillow. He breathed in the scent of the bed, of the room, of the jersey he was holding. He let it fill up his lungs, but it didn't fill up the hole Lydia had made in his chest. He knew he should leave, should get away before Scott came back. For all Jackson knew the two of them would be coming home together. The admission was like another knife wound. He squeezed his eyes closed harder, but the tears kept spilling out.

Lydia loved him, but didn't want to be with him anymore. Scott felt something for him, but couldn't or wouldn't act on it. Jackson didn't know what was so wrong with him. He tried, he tried so hard, but it never seemed to be enough. He should have gone to Danny's, but he didn't want to ruin whatever plans Danny might have had. He was going to leave. He just needed to stop crying first. He brought his knees up to his chest, curled his fingers in Scott's jersey. He'd leave just as soon as the tears stopped. He couldn't let anyone see him while he was breaking apart. He just needed a few minutes to put himself back together, to put on the face that everyone liked to see. Once he had the mask back on he'd leave, he just needed a little bit of time.


	4. Never Let Them See

"I have to go, he's waking up. Tell Stiles and Danny to stop worrying, I think he's been here most of the night." Scott's whispered voice was the first thing that registered in Jackson's mind. "I know. I love you too." Pain was the second thing. Jackson knew that if he listened he'd be able to hear Allison's voice, but he had no desire to listen in on their private conversation.

He was still curled up in a ball on Scott's bed, the jersey clutched so tightly that his fingers ached from the strain. Scott was somewhere behind him, but he didn't have the courage to look. The clock on the nightstand in front of him indicated that it was a half hour before midnight. He probably looked like shit, designer tuxedo shirt and pants wrinkled, his face tear streaked. He scrubbed the stiff cuff of the shirt across his face even though he knew it wouldn't help.

'_Never let them see you cry.'_ A painful memory, words meant to urge him toward a demeanor of calm confidence. _'Never let them see you vulnerable.'_ Jackson was too young to understand who he was supposed to be hiding from, but he'd taken the advice to heart in the way that only an overzealous child who needed to make sure he never made a mistake could.

"Are you okay?" Scott sounded concerned, his heartbeat skipped for a moment. Fear, acrid and potent spiked through the room, filled Jackson's nostrils, and left him confused.

"I'm fine," Jackson snapped. He rolled to the edge of the bed, away from the voice full of worry. He needed to get out, wasn't supposed to still be in Scott's room when he got home, but he'd been too weak.

"You're obviously not fine." Clothes rustled as Scott got to his feet, but Jackson couldn't turn to face him. "You've been crying. Lydia's a mess, she called Allison hours ago. She said you were in bad shape and could probably use a friend."

_Friend…_

The word coming from Scott's mouth was like a whip against Jackson's ears. How pathetic did someone have to be to have their ex-girlfriend send someone to make sure they weren't falling apart? He wasn't even sure when he'd become so damaged that he needed people to look out for him like that.

'_Never let them see you cry.'_

Jackson turned towards the door, but kept his gaze turned away from where Scott was. "I haven't been crying, mind your own business." He tried to pull the door open, tried to escape before the conversation took a more embarrassing turn, but it slammed closed when Scott threw his weight against it. Jackson kept his face turned away.

"You can't lie to me, Jackson. Even if I couldn't hear the skip in your heart, even if I couldn't _smell_ the dried tears on your face, I'd still know." A warm hand gripped Jackson's shoulder, Scott tried to turn him. "Whether you want to admit it or not, I'd still know."

Jackson took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Scott's scent filled him up, mixed with Allison and the lingering trace of Stiles that never seemed to leave his skin, but there was more. Jackson's scent was mixed in too. He opened his eyes and looked down at Scott's arm. It was covered by an expensive tuxedo jacket; the one Jackson had been wearing. The one he'd dropped outside Scott's house before climbing up through his window. His hand shook as he curled his fingers around Scott's wrist.

"Why?" He didn't know if he was asking why Scott was wearing his jacket, or why Scott would know that he'd been crying even if he didn't have the heightened senses of a werewolf. He turned to finally look Scott in the eyes.

"Because I care about you, I told you that. When we were in San Francisco I thought I made it pretty clear."

"I meant to ask why you are wearing my jacket."

Scott's brown eyes were so open, so honest that it made Jackson's stomach flutter. He swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing up and down. "It smells like you. I never really thought about it, but when I came up here and found you in my bed, your scent all over my stuff, I realized how much I liked it."

Jackson shivered, felt like someone had plunged a blade of ice into the middle of his spine. How could Scott not realize that saying something like that would hurt him? Scott liked the scent of him, liked it in his room, his private place that was his alone, and still they kept each other at arm's length or farther. Jackson tried to keep his expression neutral.

'_Never let them see you vulnerable.'_

"Keep it then. It'll remind you of me when I'm gone after graduation." None of them talked about what would happen after High School was over. They were a pack, or they pretended to be a pack at least, but what would that mean when they were adults and had to put away all the childish things that bound them together. It didn't matter. Jackson didn't intend to stick around long enough to see. He tried to pull the door open, but Scott didn't budge.

"Y-you're leaving? After s-school is over?" Scott's scent spiked hard, all that acrid fear right back at the surface. "Why?" His grip on Jackson's shoulder tightened painfully.

Jackson tried to pry Scott's fingers off him. "Don't act like it matters to you what I'm going to do with my life." The wolf in his mind bared its teeth, his eyes flickered green in the darkness of Scott's room. "Don't act like you care."

Scott pulled his hand back, shocked at the hostility in Jackson's voice. "What are you—"

"Shut the fuck up, Scott." He couldn't listen to it. He couldn't hear any more excuses. Jackson had taken enough of an emotional beating at Lydia's hands tonight; he didn't need to take it from Scott too. His eyes started to sting.

'_Never let them see you cry.'_

Jackson gripped the door, tried to pull it open, but Scott still refused to move. He gripped the shorter werewolf's shirt, yanked him away from the door. Scott reacted so quickly that Jackson wasn't sure if it was instinct or something else driving him. He knocked Jackson's hand away from him, caught him by the back of the neck and slammed him chest first against the door. Scott let out a low warning growl when he started to struggle. The sound ripped through Jackson's body, froze him in place. No matter how angry he was, the wolf in him still knew that Scott's was stronger. He swallowed the whine of apology building in his throat.

'_Never let them see you vulnerable.'_

It ate at Jackson the way it always did. No matter how hard he tried he could never catch up. It didn't matter what they were like before they were turned, he could never close the distance that had opened between them. Jackson could never get better than Scott, could never have Scott. He was trapped, and he couldn't even muster enough strength to get away from it. He just sniffed around, begging for scraps of the pack's affection like a whipped dog who didn't know any better.

"It matters, Jackson." Scott's voice was a low growl. His grip tightened on the back of Jackson's neck as he pinned him against the door. "I keep trying to tell you, but you don't _listen_." Scott's other hand curled in the back of Jackson's designer shirt. He released Jackson's neck and leaned in even closer, his chest pressed against Jackson's back. "I care. Since you won't listen, I'm going to have to show you."

Jackson didn't know what that meant, but before he could ask, before he could try to break free of Scott's iron grip, he felt the sharp stab of claws piercing the back of his neck. Pain radiated down his spine, he bit his tongue to keep from crying out. Scott let him collapse to the ground. The pain faded quickly, but before he could breathe out a sigh of relief Scott's memories flooded his mind…


	5. The Things That Couldn't Be Said

_Scott was sitting in the stands watching the Beacon Hills Cyclones first game of the season his freshman year. He didn't really know much about lacrosse. Everyone at the school seemed to love it. One of the players, a guy named Jackson, was kicking ass and taking names out on the field. He spun around one of the defenders. The goalie of the opposing team tried to stop the shot, but he wasn't even in the same league as the Beacon Hills team captain._

"_We should try out," Scott said. He looked over at Stiles who was busy staring at Lydia. He poked him when Stiles didn't respond at first._

"_What?" Stiles tore his eyes away and looked at Scott._

"_We should get onto the lacrosse team. We'd become popular, maybe you'd impress Lydia."_

_Stiles turned to look at the strawberry blonde girl again. "Yeah?"_

_Scott nodded, but his eyes were focused on the captain. Jackson Whittemore, he was amazing. Popular, good looking, athletic, rich, and pretty much everything Scott wasn't. Maybe though, if Scott could get on the team, maybe he'd have a shot at being someone. That had to be better than being no one at all, right?_

Jackson twitched on the floor. He didn't even remember that game; there had been so many games. There was always something he needed to be focused on, something he had to be striving to achieve. Pain lanced through his body, molten lines of fire raced through his skull. Scott knelt down on the ground next to him, said something, but Jackson couldn't hear what it was.

_Scott sat at a table near the window in the cafeteria. Stiles was shoveling spaghetti into his mouth like he was afraid it was going to escape. Scott glanced over at the popular kids' table. Most of the lacrosse first line was there, Lydia, and a couple of the players' girlfriends too. Jackson was stretched out, one foot up on the table like he didn't have a care in the world. Whenever he opened his mouth everyone else stopped to listen. Danny and Brian would laugh, Lydia would smile. It was like they were hanging on every word he said._

_Scott wondered what that would be like, to be the focus of everyone's attention. He was pretty sure that he could drop dead in the middle of the cafeteria and no one but Stiles would notice. Jackson couldn't sneeze without half the school offering him a tissue. Scott was on the team now, and so was Stiles, but they were just bench warmers. Bodies the coach probably needed to have enough guys on the roster so the parents thought spending more money on the athletics program was worth it._

_Jackson's eyes looked over in their direction. Scott nodded at him, but the gaze roamed right over him. It was like Scott was invisible. No one noticed him, not Jackson, not the rest of the school, he was just that other kid, no one at all really._

Scott wiped sweaty strands of hair off Jackson's forehead. His mouth was moving, but there were no words coming out that Jackson could hear. He looked terrified, like he didn't know what was going on or when it was going to stop. Jackson wanted to say something, but all that came out was a broken whimper of pain.

_Scott stood next to a hot tub, looking down towards the beach. Jackson sat with his arms wrapped around his legs, eyes focused out on the ocean. Scott wanted to go join him, but things were super awkward ever since the hot tub incident. Never in a million years would he have thought anything would happen between them. In a way it hadn't really, it was all confusion caused by Derek. It's not like they'd purposefully decided to do anything. Besides, he knew he loved Allison, and Jackson was with Lydia. Not like something would have ever happened otherwise. He couldn't stop watching though; he wasn't sure how long he'd been there, simply looking at the blonde guy on the beach. They were leaving in the morning, and everything that had happened between them would probably be quickly forgotten._

"I'm sorry, Jackson. Please, stop shaking. Wake up." Scott's voice was so very far away, and Jackson couldn't see him through the tears in his eyes.

_Scott sat at his desk furiously scribbling on a crappy hallmark Christmas card, but he couldn't get the words to come out right. There were four or five cards torn into tiny pieces littering the floor of his room. He tore his current project in half, let out a frustrated sigh, and slammed his head down on the desk. How was he supposed to explain to Jackson what he was feeling if he didn't even know himself. He glanced over at the hockey tickets propped up by his television. He wondered if Jackson would invite him. He could just see it, the two of them sitting side by side shouting for the players to fight. They'd eat crappy arena food, and then maybe make plans to catch a movie or hang out another time. They'd be like real friends. Scott sighed, slammed his head down on his desk again. Who was he kidding? Jackson hated him. Thought he was a loser and a tool, that he was a terrible werewolf, and a showboat on the lacrosse field. In short, Jackson pretty much hated everything Scott McCall. That's why it was so incredibly shitty that Scott couldn't get him off his mind._

It wasn't just Jackson that was shaking. Scott was shaking now too. Tears dripped out of his eyes and landed on Jackson's forehead. He leaned down and kissed them away. "I'm sorry, Jackson. It wasn't like this when Peter did it to me. I should have asked Derek. Please wake up."

_Jackson was sniffing around the table full of food. He was right underneath a sprig of mistletoe. Scott wondered if anyone would notice if he got up under it with him. It'd been so long since the beach, but he couldn't help but wonder if Jackson felt anything at all. Under all that bluster and arrogance was there something? If there wasn't why was he sometimes hanging about Scott's place? Why didn't he ever come in? Would Jackson get pissed and pay the dollar or would he want to kiss? Scott took a step closer, but the sinking feeling in his stomach got the better of him. He tried to turn away but it was too late, he'd already been seen._

"What the hell do you mean wait it out?" Scott was furious; he looked like he was going to smash his phone into tiny pieces. "Derek—"

_White light filtered down all around him. Scott was looking up into Jackson's eyes. He was so beautiful it hurt, dressed like an angel. They were in a fantasy world, where it didn't matter how many things there were keeping them apart. In the place of white light and soft clouds nothing mattered. Jackson leaned down, and kissed him as he ran a feather over his skin. Scott didn't know how he'd ever caught the attention of this ridiculously gorgeous guy, with sky blue eyes and perfect lips. He never wanted to leave; he wanted to stay in the clouds, live in the fantasy._

The fire was still in Jackson's mind, like it was trying to burn away parts of him and leave only the images behind. Jackson started to think that wouldn't be so bad. From Scott's side, Jackson didn't seem quite so messed up.

"_I don't know what to do," Scott said._

"_You do, you're just afraid." Stiles leaned back in his computer chair, kicked his feet up to rest on his bed. "Allison said that if you wanted to see what was up with you and Jackson, then you should go for it. I don't have to explain to you how incredibly rare it is to have a girlfriend that understanding."_

_Scott stared at his shoes. "What if we do something, and then Jackson never talks to me again? What if he only wants me because he thinks he can't have me?"_

_Stiles snorted. "I doubt there's anything Jackson doesn't think he could have if he wanted it. The question is what do you want, Scott?"_

_Scott shook his head. "I don't know. I'm stuck in the middle, and I don't think there's anyone who could understand." He ran a hand through his hair. "I love Allison, but I feel something for Jackson too, and that's not how it's supposed to be, right?"_

_Stiles shook his head. "I don't think people's hearts can be compartmentalized like that. You love who you love, and you can't stop that. Most people never act on it, especially if they're with someone. This thing that's going on though, it's going to tear you apart if you don't figure it out. Allison and Jackson are going to get hurt too."_

_Scott looked up, yellow light in his eyes. "I'm not going to let anyone hurt either of them."_

"_Even you?" Stiles always asked the hard questions, and that one took the fire right out of Scott's spirit._

"_Is there any way for me not to?"_

"Please, Jackson. I'll leave you alone; just open your eyes for me, okay? Just wake up and I'll never bother you again." Scott's body was still shaking, his arms were so tightly wrapped around Jackson that it felt like he being crushed. "I've been afraid. For so long I've been afraid to do anything, to say anything about how I really feel." Scott leaned in, pressed a soft kiss against Jackson's lips. "Wake up, please. I lo—"

_Jackson leaned in, and pressed a kiss to Lydia's cheek. Scott resisted the urge to growl under his breath. It wasn't like he had the right to say anything. Allison squeezed his hand. He looked over and could tell by the sympathetic look in her beautiful eyes that she knew, and she felt bad. She got to her feet, pulled him along with her._

"_We'll be right back guys, going to get more drinks." Allison guided him away from their bowling lane towards the exit. Scott followed, head down and glad that she couldn't tell how badly he reeked of shame. He hoped he was far enough away that Jackson wouldn't be able to smell it._

"_I'm sorry," Scott whispered. It wasn't enough; he was supposed to love her. That was supposed to be all that mattered._

_Allison placed a finger over his lips to keep him quiet. "I understand. On some level I get it, and I know it's not easy for you. Why don't you do something about it?"_

_Scott shook his head. "There's nothing I can do. I'm with you, and I don't regret that at all. I made the choice, and that choice is you."_

_Allison sighed. "I never asked you to make that choice; in fact I told you that you didn't have to. We can figure out the rules that apply to us. We can do it our own way."_

"_It shouldn't be necessary. Besides, he probably doesn't even care."_

_Allison slapped him in the side of the head. "You don't believe that, and the more you try to convince yourself of it the more you're just going to end up hurt. Why don't you just tell him you love him?"_

_Scott gaped at her. "I-I-I—"_

_Allison grinned. "You love me, I know. But I know that you love him too. Maybe the world wouldn't be so messed up sometimes if more people's problems involved them loving too much."_

"_You both deserve someone better, someone focused."_

"_That's our decision to make, and it's not fair if you don't even give him a chance."_

"I do, I swear I do. I have for a long time, I don't even know how long." Scott was babbling, truth be told Jackson found it sort of annoying considering how much his head ached. Scott had carried him to the bed; they were spooned up under the covers. Jackson didn't care much for being the little spoon, but Scott's arms around his waist felt solid, felt good.

"McCall," Jackson said.

"Jackson, you're—"

"Shut the fuck up."

Jackson turned in Scott's arms, rolled so he was on top of him. Scott blinked at him, totally dumbfounded. Jackson reached down, gripped the collar of Scott's shirt and pulled him up so that he could take it off. Jackson unbuttoned his own shirt and tossed it to the side.

"Jackson, I—"

"I know, Scott."

"Are we going to..." Scott looked away from Jackson's gaze, focused up on the ceiling.

"You just mind raped me. I'm going to take a nap; I've got a killer headache." Jackson settled his weight over Scott's body, buried his face against his chest and took a deep breath. It felt good, felt right being settled in on top of him.

"When you wake up—"

"McCall, I said shut the fuck up."

Scott didn't say anything else; he just wrapped his arms tightly around Jackson's back. That was good enough for now, in the morning though, Jackson was going to get what he really wanted. He just needed to sleep on it to figure out what that was for sure. Scott's fingers rubbing through the back of his hair eased the pain in his head and helped lull him to sleep.


	6. Beyond Instinct, Beyond Control

Seven months had been too long to wait. Jackson was out of self-control, out of excuses. The reality of their situation was that they were never really going to be together. There wasn't a way for them to make it work. Fuck reality. Jackson wasn't going to let anything control him. He'd cling to this for as long as he could. With his teeth, with his claws, he'd hold on until he got what he needed, what they needed.

Scott stirred underneath him. That was good. He wanted to look into those innocent brown eyes, wanted to see Scott's version of who he was. Scott's Jackson was someone alien, someone he didn't see reflected in the mirror. He leaned in, licked a soft trail up Scott's neck. He blew softly against the wetness, smirked when Scott's head twitched back and forth.

Jackson had no idea what time it was, sunlight poured in through the window above Scott's bed, bathed the tan skin underneath him in golden hues. Jackson ran a finger along the shell of Scott's ear, tried to get him to turn his face into the light so he could see him better. The boy underneath obstinately refused. Jackson suppressed a chuckle. McCall stubborn even in his sleep? Didn't take a genius to see that one coming. It didn't matter, Jackson had more tricks. He wasn't going to let Scott sleep through this.

Scott's hair was a tangled mess. It was endearing, cute in a way that Jackson wasn't used to liking. Whatever was between them, it was almost always electric. The calm in Scott's room was something he could get used to. A part of him couldn't wait for the next wave to crash; for the moment when they'd both be seized by passion they couldn't really control, didn't have a name for, but for right now this was fine. The spike was coming; Jackson was planning to instigate it. He just needed McCall's lazy ass to wake up.

He got up on his hands and knees, cut the connection between them. No more warm skin pressed together. Scott frowned in his sleep, body arching up like it knew that it was missing something even if his brain wasn't aware enough to register it too. Jackson ran a thumb over one of Scott's nipples. A soft gasp, heartbeat steadily rising, Scott was on his way back to consciousness. Jackson slid down the bed, ran his tongue along Scott's belly until it brushed up against the waistband of his underwear. He took a deep breath, Scott's scent so powerful, mixed up with his because of the night they'd spent wrapped up in each other. The wolf in his mind whined for what it hadn't had in so long, a need so primal Jackson's body started trembling. He got his hand inside his own boxers as he nosed into the fly of Scott's. He was hard already, had been for awhile. The heat of Scott's dick digging into his belly was what woke Jackson up in the first place. Scent wasn't enough, Jackson wanted to taste Scott, but he'd gone as far as he could with Scott still asleep.

"Jackson…" A desperate whisper. A spike in his heartbeat. Scott got two handfuls of Jackson's hair. "Please, been too long."

The words let loose something animalistic in Jackson's soul. No more waiting. Scott was ready, Scott was _his_. He didn't have the self-control to wait for McCall to get out of his underwear. Scott's hips thrust up, the hard length of his dick strained to escape through the front of his boxers. Jackson let go of himself, had more important things to do with his hands. The scent of how hot for it Scott was spiked through Jackson's lungs. He looked up as he pulled Scott's cock out through the front of his boxers. No golden light in those eyes, just solid brown begging him to go faster. There was something reassuring in that, that Scott, not just the wolf in his soul wanted this from Jackson.

"Please," McCall made it sound like a prayer that only Jackson could answer.

Jackson wasn't going to make Scott ask a third time; his nerves were already frayed past the point where he could stop. He licked against Scott's hard length, groaned at the taste. Everything he remembered and so much better because for the first time he was doing it while he wasn't out of his mind, twisting under the control of a sexually frustrated Alpha, or home brewed magical booze. They were making the choice together, and that made it something different than what had come before.

He didn't break eye contact, placed a soft kiss on the head of Scott's dick. There was a momentary flare of power in Scott's eyes. His hips thrust up again, pressing himself against Jackson's lips. That amber light had haunted Jackson's soul for months. He'd ached for it, to have it focused on him, to be the cause of it. He felt the wolf in his mind rise up. Felt the power burst through the edges of his control. Scott sucked in a ragged breath, for a moment Jackson thought he could see the emerald green power of his eyes reflected in Scott's brown ones. Yellow flashed again, and Jackson couldn't watch any more. He had to keep going.

Scott's skin was more than warm, something just past hot and edging upwards quickly. Jackson gripped Scott's legs, marveled at the tight muscle as he skimmed his hands up over Scott's belly. He groaned, desperate as he sucked Scott down as far as he could. He worked his tongue, his lips, met every thrust of Scott's hips. The hands in his hair tightened their grip.

"Jackson," Scott just kept whispering his name, like he couldn't think of anything else to say. "Jackson… Jackson…"

Not many people would call Scott articulate, but the way his voice cracked, the way the name slipped out of his lips like a litany was all that mattered to Jackson. He pulled off of Scott's dick, dropped down to run his tongue along his balls, was rewarded by Scott spreading his legs and pulling his knees up to make more room for him. Little, breathy whines spilled out of Scott's mouth, his body shaking as Jackson lapped at him.

It wasn't enough. Jackson felt he'd swallowed a live wire, electricity racing through his body, tearing him apart one nerve at a time. He needed more, needed Scott to let him have it. "Scott, please. Let me…"

Scott's eyes were blown open. "Whatever you want, I want it too. Tell me what to do."

Jackson curled his hands under Scott's hips, pulled him down the bed with such force that Scott let out a surprised gasp. He almost tore Scott's boxers getting them off, got his hands under Scott's knees to fold his body up. Brown eyes widened in shock, but before he could say anything Jackson's tongue licked down from under his balls to the tight ring of muscle between his legs. Scott let out a choked groan.

The human parts of Jackson were slipping away. He needed this so badly, he lapped against Scott's body, desperate for the taste of him. Scott gripped his wrists, nails slowly sharpening into claws, the points dragging on Jackson's skin, but not piercing. Scott let go so quickly, curled his fingers in the air like he was afraid of hurting Jackson.

"Don't hold back," Jackson whispered. "You don't have to do that with me." He licked against Scott's body again, kept his eyes locked on Scott's face. "You can't hurt me. Let it go."

Scott's eyes snapped open full of golden light. "Come on, Jackson. This is what you want, right?" Scott's voice was a low growl, full of feral need. "Faster, no more waiting." There was a hint of command in Scott's voice, and it pulled the wolf in Jackson, compelled it. "In the drawer…"

Jackson let Scott's hips fall back to the bed. He climbed up Scott's body to reach into the partially open dresser. Scott had condoms and a bottle of lube. He was about to make a joke about Scott being so well prepared, but Scott caught his hips, slipped further down the bed to bury his face in his crotch. Claws tore through Jackson's boxers, and before Jackson could complain wet heat surrounded him. Scott whined around Jackson's dick, sucked hard.

"Scott," Jackson panted. He tried to pull away, but Scott gripped his hips tightly, held him in place as he lapped at his cock. Jackson tried to focus on ripping the small packet open with his teeth. "Easy, Scott."

Yellow eyes looked up at Jackson; Scott let him out of his mouth. "Hurry." It was feral, commanding, pulling at Jackson's spine with the strength of it. Scott's desire pressed down on Jackson, made it hard to breathe. He got back between Scott's legs. Condom next, that was logical. His hands shook as he rolled it on. The small part of his brain that was still working registered the cap of the lube opening. The synthetic smell flared through the room. Jackson lost focus on it though as Scott dipped his fingers into his own body, started stretching himself open. Jackson's mouth fell open.

"Jackson," Scott panted. "Come on. I'm ready."

The words drummed against Jackson's mind. He crawled further between Scott's legs and lined himself up with Scott's entrance. His throat felt dry, need for this moment had almost hollowed him out, and now that it was finally happening the enormity of it was paralyzing. Scott sounded so desperate, like he'd wrestled with the same things Jackson had for so long. He looked at Scott's eyes, and behind all the animalistic desire, he could see something else. The yellow light flared stronger for a moment, then guttered out. The compulsion that had been ripping its way through Jackson's mind dropped away. He let out a shaky breath.

"Scott?" This was it. The final moment, the last chance they had for one of them to put a stop to this. Jackson's hands were shaking, Scott's legs trembled. They were both hard. They were panting, sweaty, but they were in control.

"Please, Jackson." Brown eyes, not amber, begged Jackson to keep going. They didn't command. "I want this. I need this, just as bad as you do."

Jackson nodded, didn't trust his voice in that moment. He inched his hips forward, slowly pressed himself into Scott's body. Heat closed around him. Jackson could barely breathe. He lowered his body down on top of Scott's as he slid all the way inside. Impossibly tight, Scott's muscle seized up around him. He grunted with the effort to stay still, to let Scott get used to the feeling. Scott gripped Jackson's neck, pulled his body up and licked over his throat and up his chin.

"Please," Scott whispered. He pulled Jackson into a kiss; thrust his hips up against Jackson's body.

Jackson pulled his hips back, and then pushed forward. Scott let out a hissing breath, his nails pressed against the base of Jackson's skull, the same place he'd dug his claws in the night before. It was like hitting a switch. Jackson bucked forward, the impact shaking Scott's body.

"So good," Jackson whispered. It was everything he'd ever hoped and so much more. He rocked back and forth, slowly at first, but Scott started getting restless, met him thrust for thrust and it just wasn't enough for either of them. The scent of them, of what they were doing seeped into Jackson's lungs. He leaned back, got his hands under Scott's hips and started pulling him as he thrust into his body. Scott reached up, pressed his hands against the top of his bed and pushed himself onto Jackson harder.

"Come on," Scott begged. "Please, harder."

Jackson looked down, watched as he slid in and out of Scott's body. Every time he pressed in Scott's dick strained up into the air before falling back onto his stomach. It was slick, leaking white onto Scott's stomach. Jackson couldn't help himself; he swiped his fingers over the tip, gathered up what he found there. Scott's eyes flew open at the contact, and when Jackson licked his fingers clean Scott lost control again. Amber light flared in his eyes, his legs tightened around Jackson's waist. He got his hands underneath himself, rolled them over so quickly that it took Jackson by surprise.

Scott pressed his body down, grinding his hips on top of Jackson's body, clenched around him. Jackson let his head fall back, gripped Scott's dick and started pulling him. It was too good, Scott bouncing on his lap, rising up and falling, finding a rhythm to his satisfaction. He was so close. Scott was close too; Jackson could smell it on him. His skin was fevered hot to the touch, and his dick straining in Jackson's hand. Scott leaned forward, eyes still on fire with his wolf's need. His lips curled back, fangs slipping out. Jackson felt the change coming too, felt his eyes burning with power, claws elongating, fangs coming out to meet Scott's. They were half way to being fully wolfed out, stuck in the middle of change. Scott let out a howl; it rocked through Jackson's bones, and before he could respond Scott _bit _him. Fangs sank into his shoulder; the edge of pain spiked through Jackson's body, and pushed him over the edge. Scott bit him again on the other shoulder, hips still rising and falling erratically.

Animal need seized Jackson's body, he pulled Scott closer, sank his teeth into the base of Scott's neck, his claws scraped along Scott's back, and that seemed to be what he needed too, because he lost control, hot fluid spilled out of Scott onto Jackson's stomach.

They clung to each other, shaking, panting, completely sated, but unsure of how to process what had happened, what it meant. Jackson had never been able to let loose like that before. Post transformation he'd needed to be very careful. Werewolf strength, fangs, and claws were dangerous to whoever he was with, anyone who wasn't just like him. With Scott it had been different, primal; they'd gone through it all. The loss of control, regaining it, willingly giving it up and giving in, he didn't have words to describe what had happened or how it made him feel. People might not have even invented words for it.

"Wow," Scott whispered.

Jackson panted, placed a soft kiss on the side of Scott's neck. He guessed wow worked for now, but he hoped they'd eventually come up with something better.


End file.
